Keepsakes
by leoandsnake
Summary: Goose is dead, Maverick is sleeping with Viper, and Iceman is jealous as hell. Maverick/Viper, Maverick/Iceman.


_A/N: This is sort of an expansion on _Duke_. It's shorter than I would have liked, but eh._

"So did you hear?"

Iceman looked up from stuffing things in his bag. Slider lowered his voice and added, "about Mitchell?"

"No," Iceman said. "What, is he leaving?" he replied, ignoring the familiar pang in his chest.

"No, but -- well, actually, I dunno. He might be. But that's not what I was going to say." He paused. "Would you leave if I -- if I bit it?"

"Would you want me to?"

"Hell, no, man," Slider replied, a little too quickly. "Keep the dream alive, you know what I mean? Anyway..."

He glanced around the locker room. No one was paying them any attention, so he continued. "He's fucking Viper. Or I guess Viper's fucking him, 'cause he's got him completely under his thumb. It's like some sick game. Total abuse of power."

Iceman felt like he had been punched in the gut. His throat was burning. He tried to speak once, twice, and finally got it on the third try -- "Where'd you hear that?"

"Hollywood, where else?"

"Yeah," Iceman said. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest. "That's..." he trailed off.

"He's got a wife, too -- Viper, I mean. I heard she doesn't care, though. She caught him with Jester once and all she said was he had better not get AIDS or something. What a fucked-up marriage." Slider noted the look on Iceman's face and added, "Calm down, man, it's not like he's going to win anyway. Ever since Goose kicked it he's been at least ten points behind us. He could sleep with the fucking President and he wouldn't catch up."

"Yeah," Iceman repeated. But that thought hadn't crossed his mind at all. "Listen, I'll see you later," he said, tossing his bag to the bench and closing his locker.

"Ice, wait --"

But he was already gone.

--==OOO==--

* * *

"Sir?"

Viper looked up from the paperwork he was filling out.

"Could I talk to you privately?" Iceman said.

Viper blinked. "Yes, Lieutenant," he replied. "At ease." He motioned for Iceman to sit down and lit a cigarette.

"Ever since Bradshaw was killed I've had nothing but paperwork," Viper muttered, blowing smoke across his desk. "What's your concern, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I heard something... about... someone," Iceman said carefully.

Viper raised an eyebrow. "I see," he said drily.

"I was just wondering," Iceman said. "If a commanding officer were to have a -- a _relationship_, sir, with one of the students here, it would be breaking a number of Navy regulations, correct? Not to mention an abuse of power and grounds for dismissal from the school."

Viper's expression changed. Several emotions washed over his weather-lined face, faster than Iceman could track, and when he spoke, his voice was low and sharp.

"That would be an extremely serious accusation to level, Lieutenant," he replied. "Especially to a commanding officer."

"I understand, sir," Iceman said. _Fucker_, he thought, _you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?_

"So unless you're _absolutely sure_ something of that nature is going on," Viper said, regarding Iceman coldly, "you should probably leave well enough alone, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," Iceman practically growled.

"Dismissed," Viper said.

Iceman stood and left. He was barely out of the office when he ran into Hollywood.

"Hey, man, what's going on? Slider said you ran off like a crazy person when he told you Mitchell was getting b --"

Iceman grabbed Hollywood by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

"What the hell?" Hollywood demanded.

"Where'd you hear that?" Iceman said.

"Hear what?"

"Are you stupid or something?" Iceman snapped. "Maverick and Viper!"

"Oh, oh -- uh, I didn't hear it anywhere, I saw 'em together."

Iceman's stomach turned.

"What's _with_ you, man? You look like you're about ready to kill someone," Hollywood said, and stepped to the side nervously, gently pulling Iceman's fingers from their death grip on his flight suit.

"Son of a _bitch_," Iceman spat at no one in particular.

"What were you doing in there, calling him out?"

Iceman shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Listen, man, I know you've been burning a torch or whatever for Mitchell for a while now, but you can't just go around accusing people of shit like that, especially guys like Viper, who can ruin your career in a second."

"Ruin _my_ career?" Iceman demanded. "You know how many regulations he's breaking?"

"Yeah, for once, Kazansky, I get the feeling it's not the regulations you're concerned about."

"Whatever," Iceman said. "I'm over this. I need a drink."

"You do that," Hollywood muttered, brushing himself off and strolling away.

--==OOO==--

* * *

Viper began to pace back and forth in the master bedroom he and his wife shared. Maverick lay on the bed, face-down, bare save for his briefs.

"Kazansky came to see me," Viper said, as he stopped pacing and stepped toward the wide window overlooking his yard, rimmed by the ocean.

Maverick didn't answer. His stomach was all twisted up inside him, and it took a while after having sex with Viper for it to untwist. He clutched his dog tags in his fist.

"Seemed very concerned about you," Viper continued. "Seemed to think I was... taking advantage of your delicate state."

The way he said 'delicate state', it sounded like a curse.

"Good for him," Maverick said quietly. He tensed his muscles. _Don't fucking cry_, he told himself. _Not now. Don't cry._

He let go of his dog tags. Viper turned around.

"Of course, he's wrong," Viper said. "He has good intentions, Iceman, but he tends to go about things all wrong."

He moved to the bed and kissed Maverick on the mouth. Maverick drew back, and Viper began to stroke his shoulder.

"Don't," Maverick said, wriggling out of his reach, sitting up on the bed. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like you're my father," Maverick muttered. "I don't have one and I don't need one."

Viper's hand went away. "You're still torn up about Goose, Mitchell, I can see that. But don't take it out on me."

Maverick grabbed a fistful of Viper's shirt and pulled him close. His eyes flickered over Viper's face for a moment, and then he met his lips.

When they separated, Viper told him shortly, "You should get going, Lieutenant."

"Fine," Maverick replied. His voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat as he picked up his clothes from where they had been discarded on the floor.

As he made for the door Viper stopped him and pulled him close. "I'll see you, Duke."

Maverick froze. "What was that?"

Something dark washed over Viper's face. "What?"

"What did you just call me?"

Viper shook his head and pushed him out the door gently. "You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

Maverick knew, then, to take the hint, and he left quickly and furtively, glancing around as he stepped into the warm beach air.

--==OOO==--

* * *

The TACTs trailer was uncomfortably warm, but Iceman didn't notice. He was focused on the glowing black screen in front of him, observing the maneuvers illustrated in green, tuning out Viper's voice so it couldn't corrode his insides like an old battery.

Maverick was shifting in his seat, and Iceman picked up on it, eyes boring into the back of his head. He knew Maverick felt the heat of the double gaze of Viper and Iceman, compounded by the occasional reproachful flicker of Charlie's blue eyes.

Slider had told him multiple times over the last week, "It's not our problem, Ice, don't make it our problem." It became a mantra for the both of them, something Iceman could hold onto that would remind him that he was here to win and nothing else, and something for Slider to say, no matter how empty the words became.

Iceman leaned over the railing, sliding his aviator glasses down over his eyes, blurring and darkening the world.

It felt like hours before they broke for a short period, a few pilots and RIOs stepping out for water or to stretch their legs.

Maverick shot a look at Viper before he trotted out after Wolfman, and Viper's face hardened for a moment. Iceman pretended not to notice this.

"Hey," Hollywood said, moving over to the seat next to Iceman. It was only then that he noticed Slider had left.

Iceman grunted in response.

"You want to hear something funny?"

"I'm going to fucking knock your teeth out, Hollywood."

"Okay, maybe it's not so much funny as, uh, creepy, but you should hear it anyway."

"I'm not interested in anything you think I need to hear."

"So you know how Maverick's totally Navy-inbred?" Hollywood said.

"Huh?"

"You know, his father was Duke Mitchell? One of the ballsiest pilots of the twentieth century?"

Iceman took his sunglasses off and slid them into his breast pocket. "No, I didn't," he muttered. "And?"

"Well, turns out..." Hollywood dropped his voice, "Viper and Duke had some long-standing, uh, gay affair when they were stationed in the Pacific."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Jester."

"Sure," Iceman said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I mean, he didn't come right out and tell me --" Hollywood moved a little closer. "But the other day, I was talking to him one-on-one, and the subject came up, and he dropped all of these loaded comments, including stuff about how torn up Viper was when Duke died, and how they _flew together_ for years, and how he has this soft spot for Maverick because he looks so much like him and flies so much like him... fits, doesn't it? Considering they're... y'know."

"Screw off," Iceman said. At this last comment, his stomach had gone back to churning intensely.

"But, Kazansky --"

"Get away from me before I vomit on your face," Iceman snapped, standing up and strolling out of the room.

He stood out there for a few minutes, the sun beating down on his face, twirling a pen absent-mindedly in his fingers, reciting every prime number from one to three hundred in his head until the nausea faded.

"Tom."

Iceman turned to find Slider standing there. His voice was sharp and his brown eyes were clouded with something foreign.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Iceman replied, composing himself in a matter of seconds, pocketing the pen and breaking off at two-hundred fifty-one.

Slider looked disbelieving, but nodded anyway and waited for Iceman to join him, looking slightly placated when he did.

--==OOO==--

* * *

"I think I'm gonna leave," Maverick murmured, looking up at the ceiling, as Viper kissed each of his individual ribs.

Viper put his hands palm-down on the desk, on either side of Maverick, and moved forward so they were eye-to-eye. "Leave?"

His voice had changed from a familiar dulcet murmur back to the commanding tone he used around the students, and Maverick squirmed underneath him. "Yeah," he said, and his breath came faster, chest rising and falling. "I just don't why... why I should be here anymore. Flying with Goose isn't the same for me. You know it. They all know it."

The space behind Maverick's eyes burned and he set his jaw, steeling himself. Viper didn't seem to notice.

"I can't tell you how to deal with your grief, Mitchell," Viper said, "and I'm not going to try. Your decision is your decision. But I am going to tell you that you have a shitload of natural talent, and you've got guts like your dad had. That would be reason enough to stay for me."

Something about the way he said "_like your dad had_", a softness that crept into Viper's voice, then, made Maverick sit up and walk away. He saw his silhouette outlined on the floor as the sun streamed in on him from the windows of Viper's office -- blinds closed, door locked.

"It's a chance you're not going to get again," Viper said, "being here, being one of the best, being one of these men."

But Maverick didn't feel like a man. He felt like a lost little boy with no mother and no father, no family and no place to call home.

Goose was the only family he had left.

And Goose was dead.

Slider was going over the plane before they took it up, going through a mental checklist that had become routine and mundane over the years. Iceman stood beside him but felt lightyears away, his gaze locked somewhere between the tarmac and the horizon.

He saw Maverick walk by, and it was like a punch to the gut. Iceman watched as he strode away from -- who was it today -- Sundown, who was calling after him.

"Ice," Slider said.

"I'm here," Iceman said automatically.

"He's _quitting,_ okay?" Slider exploded, hitting the side of the plane with an open-palmed slap that made the metal sing. "He's _quitting_, he's_ leaving_, this was his last day! Give it up, man!"

"What?"

"You fuckin' heard me!"

Iceman rarely saw Slider like this, but his anger only dimly registered. He began to walk away.

Slider called after him once, twice, three times. Iceman kept going.

His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest as he entered the locker room, mere steps behind Maverick, but his face revealed nothing.

"Mitchell," Iceman said. The staccato syllables were heavy on his tongue. He tasted metal.

Maverick closed his locker, then rested his forehead against it.

"What the hell are you doing?" Iceman said, and jealousy and possessiveness flared in his veins again.

"What does it look like?" Maverick said, voice rocking back and forth like a rowboat cast out to sea, fingers trembling. "Leaving."

"He's using you, you know that? He's fucking using you!"

"Why do you_ care_?" Maverick demanded, wheeling around. "You don't _give a shit_!"

"Viper fucked your father!" Iceman shouted.

The words bounced around the locker room and then faded, and the only sound left was both of them breathing heavily, Maverick struggling not to make eye contact with Iceman.

"When they were stationed," Iceman said, each word like a lead weight, "in the Pacific. That's why. He's using you, Mitchell."

There was a high red flush in Maverick's cheeks. His hands curled into fists.

"You think I don't give a shit? You think this is f_un_ for me or something?" Iceman hissed, stepping forward. "You think it doesn't _kill _me when I see either of you, knowing about it, having to think about his hands all over you..."

Maverick was trembling.

"You may not get it, Mitchell, you may play that lone wolf card like it's the only one you got, but this is the Navy, and we're your _family_. We're here for you when you're dying, when you're about to die, when you think you want to die, _we're there_. You don't run out on us."

"_No!_" Maverick screamed, and tears were streaming down his face now. He stepped forward and pushed Iceman, who didn't move. Maverick pushed him harder, and then began to punch every inch of him he could reach, as hard as he could, choking back tears. "_Goose... was... my... family!_ _Not you!_ I _hate_ you, Kazansky, I fucking_ hate _you!"

Iceman stood stock-still, not moving or relenting, until the punches became softer and softer and finally Maverick collapsed against him, clutching the back of his flightsuit, sobbing into his collarbone.

He put his arms around Maverick and held him as tight as he could.

"You don't run out on us," Iceman repeated, quietly.

He held Maverick until the crying petered out to soft hiccups and, finally, Maverick pushed him away gently. Iceman handed him a handkerchief.

"You should get rid of him," Iceman said, the metal taste returning to his mouth.

"Who?"

"Viper."

Maverick flinched.

"I didn't want any of this," he whispered.

Iceman felt bile rising in his throat. "He took advantage of you," he snapped.

Maverick fiddled with his dog tags and then stood up. He sighed. "I really didn't know you gave a shit."

Iceman was silent.

"I'll go talk to him," Maverick said, leaving.

Iceman grabbed his arm. "I'll see you later, Mitchell?"

Maverick nodded, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and left.

--==OOO==--

* * *

"Lieutenant," Viper said, folding a paper he was holding so Maverick couldn't see it. "Come in."

Maverick perched on the edge of his desk, holding his knees to his chest like he was five again.

"Thought you were leaving at fifteen-hundred hours," Viper said, standing up and moving his fingers through Maverick's dark hair, landing a kiss on his cheekbone, drawing his lips over the curve of his jaw.

"I've been reconsidering," Maverick said, his voice hoarse. "But I don't think we should do this anymore."

Viper put a hand on his knees and gently pushed them down and away, playing with the zipper of his flightsuit, pulling it down.

"I mean it."

"You are _so_ like your father," Viper mused.

Maverick's stomach began to twist again. "No, I'm not," he said, his mouth dry.

"Same eyes..." Viper said, "same voice... same heroic bastards, you and your father, you even look like him, more than you know --"

"I'm _not_ my goddamn father!" Maverick shouted, shoving Viper away, hot anger and resentment spreading through him, breaking past his grief and rising to the surface. "I am not my father!_ I am not my father!_"

He was shaking violently now.

"Stay away from me, Commander," Maverick hissed. "I know about you and Duke. I know what you're trying to do. And I don't want you to fuck me anymore. I don't want you to touch me anymore."

Viper seemed to close off from him in that moment. It was a long time before either of them spoke.

"It's a pity," he said, almost too quietly to hear. "You could have been great."

Maverick's voice trembled. "I will be great."

Viper opened his mouth to reply, and closed it. "I'll see you around, Lieutenant."

--==OOO==--

* * *

Maverick wasn't drinking.

He didn't feel like it. In the weeks where Goose's death had burned fresh on him, he had, but now he just felt empty, and no amount of liquor would fill the abyss.

"So," Iceman said.

Maverick jumped a little. He hadn't heard him walk over.

"I'm guessing you really told Viper off," Iceman said. He had a beer in his hand. "Last time I saw him he looked fit to kill someone."

"When was that?"

"Hours ago."

Maverick glanced around the bar. Slider wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Iceman locked eyes with him, fingers sliding in and out of the mouth of the bottle absent-mindedly, stroking the glass, moist with Amstel Light. Maverick felt his dick stiffen suddenly, brushing against the fabric of his dress whites.

"Didn't it drive you crazy, Kazansky," Maverick muttered, moving closer, brushing the fabric of Iceman's dress whites with his finger. "Thinking about Viper inside me... my fingers on his cock... jerking him off?"

Iceman made a choked noise deep in his throat. Maverick drew a line from his stomach to his crotch, then looked up at him through the fringe of his lashes.

"Don't do this to me if you're leaving," Iceman said, letting his breath out in a hiss.

"I'm staying," Maverick said.

"Good."

--==OOO==--

* * *

They didn't make it to the bed.

Not right away, anyway.

The front door to Iceman's place slammed open against the foyer wall, leaving a black mark and a dent in the plaster as Maverick tore at Iceman's clothes, ripping them off his body, mouth buried in his neck. It slammed once more and they stumbled into the kitchen, Iceman pushing Maverick onto the table, fingers slick with sweat and precome.

Maverick threw off his own clothing, the dress whites first and then the shirt underneath, the buckle of his belt falling with a crack against the hardwood floor. His underwear soon followed as Iceman arched over him, dog tags pressing between his chest and Maverick's back. Maverick let out a howl of pain when Iceman entered him, seizing up under his fingertips. On the second thrust Iceman realized blood was trickling down his thigh and he jerked away, gasping for breath.

"Don't stop," Maverick panted.

"You're _bleeding_ --"

"I know," Maverick said, wincing in pain.

"I don't want to hurt you," Iceman said. He gazed at the blood on his fingertips. "What the_ fuck_?" Anger at Viper rose in his chest.

"Kazansky, it's no big deal," Maverick wheezed.

"It's _no big deal?_"

"He didn't _rape_ me, if that's what you're thinking --"

"I never said that --"

"So get over it then!"

"He should have been gentle with you," Iceman snarled. "You were grieving. He should have been gentle."

"I'm not a goddamn _porcelain doll_, Tom!"

Too soon, Iceman realized, it was too soon. Too soon after Goose, too soon after Viper, too soon after being used as some sick tunnel to the past for the lonely and bereaved.

He sat down on one of the chairs ringing the kitchen table, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

Maverick stood in front of him, expression unreadable.

Iceman took Maverick by the arm and pulled him close, his lips against Maverick's temple.

Maverick cleared his throat and rose to his feet, pulling his boxers on.

"C'mere," Iceman said, getting up.

"Huh?"

Iceman motioned for him to follow and started up the stairs.

He opened his bedroom door, the doorknob cold under his hand, and as Maverick stood in the doorway, he opened the door to the balcony.

A soft ocean breeze blew in and Iceman took Maverick by the land and led him to his bed.

Maverick fell back against the tangled sheets and Iceman knelt above him.

They gazed at each other for a long moment, and then they kissed.

"Mitchell?"

"Yeah?"

"You've been making my life a living hell lately, do you know that?"

Maverick chuckled quietly. "Sorry about that."

"You should be," Iceman grunted.

"Kiss me again," Maverick told him.

So he did.


End file.
